


Poison Apple Crêpes

by Adverb_Slut



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Childhood Memories, Cute, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adverb_Slut/pseuds/Adverb_Slut
Summary: An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger.Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 279
Collections: I'll re-read anytime





	1. Mammon

**Author's Note:**

> Just a disclaimer! I know that the brothers weren't like, children or anything when they came to the Devildom ... but the idea was too cute to pass up!
> 
> Oh, also, for this story, I made it so that one thousand angel/demon years is one human year!

Mammon clutched the sheet of paper even more tightly in his fists, his knuckles curled so fast that his shapely white fingernails dug deep into his palms. 

The paper—his fifth Chemistry III test with a score of less than 10%—was a crumpled mess and, unlike his usual treatment of schoolwork, couldn’t be thrown away. Because it was his fifth F- in a row, his professor had stapled an angry pink notice to the front of the exam, biding Mammon to have it signed by his guardian and returned to the professor so that he knew that someone _other_ than Mammon was aware of his failing grades and was helping him get through the course.

However, since Mammon had no _actual_ guardian, the role of signing permission slips, detention notices, release forms and the like for _all_ the brothers fell upon Lucifer. And as far as Lucifer was concerned, he had signed _far_ too many test-failure notifications for Mammon and was already livid with his younger brother for another one he had brought home yesterday for his Statistics IV class; he had confiscated Mammon’s beloved Goldie the second he had seen the telltale pink sheet stapled to the front of Mammon’s test the day before.

Of course, Mammon had thought to forge Lucifer’s signature on all his failed tests, but unfortunately, during the past year, much of the R.A.D.’s grading system had become computerized and Lucifer could see his siblings’ grades whenever he pleased. Mammon figured it would be worse for his brother to find out about his grades over the computer than for him to realize it in person—that gave him less time to plan out his punishment agenda. 

Mammon shuddered at the thought of what his penalty would be _this_ time and cursed Lucifer a thousand times over. A boiling ire snaked its way through his bones as he thought of the firstborn demon’s cruel sense of justice, but even more so at the fact that his preliminary punishment had already been granted the day before: his precious Goldie had been impounded.

He absolutely despised knowing that the few thousand Grimm coins that rattled around in his jacket pocket were all the money he had on him, _period_. The thought only caused his frown to deepen as he wrung his test even tighter and made his way to Lucifer’s private study. 

The eldest demon’s study had always been a bit of a puzzle to his siblings, as rather than being locked by a key, it was kept shut through a voice command phrase. Belphegor and Satan had always reveled in guessing goofy phrases about Lucifer’s relationship with Diavolo as the code, but none of those phrases opened the door. Even when Leviathan, Beelzebub, or Asmodeus made any kind of attempt to speak the right phrase, the door still wouldn’t budge.

The five of them had always assumed that the code was some kind of personal anecdote, something that only those closest to Lucifer would know. This baffled them, as who would be closer to Lucifer than his brothers?

Mammon, on the other hand, never understood what was so hard about guessing the code—as far as he was concerned, any low-level demon could figure it out easy enough—not that he’d ever tell his other siblings what it was.

He walked up to the door to Lucifer’s study and muttered, “Eine klein Nachtmusik.”

It was common sense for that to be Lucifer’s _super-secret code phrase_. Back in the Celestial Realm, when Lucifer had been the Archangel of Music, "Eine klein Nachtmusik" had been his first and most beloved composition. He had written a great multitude of pieces for every instrument ever to be in existence, but there was no composition that he was more proud of than that one. Or, he had been, until his prized work had been released into the Human World and the credit for it had been taken by some Austrian mook by the name of _Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart._

Mammon shook his head as the door to the study slid open smoothly without so much as a hiss. 

_Too easy_.

He stomped in, his displeasure evident on his face as he turned toward his brother’s desk, hoping to see a dumbfounded Lucifer, irritated that someone had been able to outsmart his voice command security.

Instead, Lucifer was hunched over his desk, his head down and only propped up by a gloved hand that was sprawled delicately on his face.

Mammon raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the firstborn demon. His eyebrows raised; Lucifer was … _sleeping_? He paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen his brother at breakfast this morning, either. Had he been here in his study all night? 

Mammon couldn’t even _begin_ to wonder what kind of work would prompt his brother to slave at such odd hours. However, this didn’t bother him as he clasped his hand around Lucifer’s shoulder, poised and ready to shake the exhausted demon awake. 

“Yo, Lucifer,” he began, but before he could finish his thought, his eyes wandered to the disarray that was Lucifer’s desk. 

He cocked his head. His brother was renowned for being an incredibly immaculate demon; there never was a hair to be found out of place on his head, and even the clutter on his desk was always neatly arranged and tidy. 

Mammon looked behind the desk and noticed that Lucifer had propped a window open and realized that the wind must have scattered the items on his desk. 

Dozens of sheets of paper were strewn about and various pens and knickknacks littered the floor. In fact, Mammon noticed that the only thing that seemed to have survived the wind was the file folder that was directly in front of Lucifer. He found that strange and wondered why _that_ was the sole object not privy to the elements. 

He moved his hand off of Lucifer and stepped back when he noticed that the item that acted as a paperweight and held the file down was a small tabletop photo frame. Mammon raised an eyebrow as he picked the frame up and nearly dropped it when he saw the photo that was inside. 

It was an older photograph, taken maybe five hundred years ago or so. He smiled, realizing that in the picture, he was only perhaps nine hundred years old. Lucifer, the other demon in the photo, was about thirteen hundred. The two of them were huddled under an umbrellaed patio table at one of the small cafés on the outskirts of the Devildom, grinning widely for the camera. Mammon had an arm wrapped chummily around his older brother’s shoulders, while the latter leaned into the touch with a carefree beam bigger than Mammon had ever seen it before.

Mammon smiled fondly; he recollected the café well. When the seven brothers had first moved to the Devildom, they had reveled in exploring the many restaurants that the realm offered, before finally settling on Ristorante Six as their favorite. However, Mammon reminisced, the particular café featured in the photograph remained a favorite of both him and Lucifer. On days that they weren’t busy with their own responsibilities, the pair used to would make the long trips to the fringes of the Devildom to the café and enjoy its specialty—crêpes. 

He recalled that at first, he had kicked his legs stubbornly and pouted because none of the crêpe fillings were foods that he liked until Lucifer had persuaded him to try the dried blackbelly newt legs macerated in vanilla simple syrup as a filling. Mammon had fallen in love that day, and ever since then, he couldn’t get enough of the coarse, wiry stuff and considered dried blackbelly newt legs to be one of his favorite foods.

Lucifer, on the other hand, always ordered his crêpes brimming with several extra portions of poison apples. The sticky fruit was always slick with thick, purple glaze, and Mammon laughed when he remembered that by the end of every meal, Lucifer would woefully find his lips a very unbecoming shade of lavender. 

His laughter stopped when he realized that it had been a _very_ long time since he and Lucifer had been to that café. In fact, for the past several years, Mammon had spent most of his time meandering about in the exclusive and expensive shopping districts in the heart of the Devildom, never venturing to the dingy outskirts of the realm. 

But still, he wondered, why he and Lucifer hadn’t at least made _one_ trip to the café in all the years since.

Mammon’s heart dropped as he racked his brain and remembered Lucifer asking him, year after year—in an underhanded way, of course—if he wanted to accompany him on various outings, all of which were located in the very fringes of the Devildom and dangerously close to their café.

_“Mammon, I’m going to drop Baby Satan at his Little Bookworms Club at the edge of town. Care to join me? We can find something to eat while we wait for him to finish.”_

_“Mammon, Levi stayed up late playing zombie games again, and he wants me to walk him to the Akuzon Delivery Center; he’s afraid something will creep up from the shadows and attack him. It’s at the far end of the realm, but we can buy some lunch in one of the cafés nearby if we get hungry. That is_ — _if you’d like to come.”_

 _“Mammon, do you recall that Beel received those three passes for two free meals apiece at_ any _café in the Devildom? It was a prize for when he won the Devildom Junior High Pie-Eating Contest, I believe. Yesterday, he gave me one as penance for eating everything in the refrigerator,_ again _. Would you care to use it with me?”_

_“Mammon, Diavolo said that it’s imperative that I deliver this bowl of warm chicken heart soup to his grandmother. She’s sick and lives in the Hellfire Retirement Community. You know where that is, correct? It’s on the outskirts of town, and we can get brunch afterward. Will you join me?”_

He cringed as he remembered that he had turned down every invitation, too deep in one of his many get-rich-quick schemes once he had gotten settled in his life in the Devildom to take a moment to spend time with his brother. He realized now that Lucifer, his pride having taken too many hits from being snubbed a multitude of times, must have just decided to stop inviting him altogether.

Mammon sighed and put the photo frame back on the file in front of Lucifer. He decided to let him sleep—with all he did for his younger brothers, Mammon wagered Lucifer sure needed it. He uncrumpled his test and with one of the pens scattered about, scrawled _Mammon already signed up for tutoring );_ on the back and, left it on the desk, making a mental note to do just that—even though he _despised_ the idea of spending his much-needed cashflow-planning time with the pretentious tutors at R.A.D.

He stared at Lucifer’s peaceful form for a moment before reaching down to pick up the windblown papers and place them neatly on his desk. He even rearranged all the other office supplies that were scattered about in a fashion that he was sure that even the tidy Lucifer would approve of.

“Stupid Lucifer,” Mammon muttered as he quietly closed the door to his brother’s study. “No wonder you were Father’s favorite.”

As he walked down the halls of the House of Lamentation, Mammon fingered the Grimm coins in his pocket. Now that he thought about it, he had _just_ the right amount of money to buy a stack of crêpes to-go at that little café. 

He nodded when he realized that in the glove compartment of his Demonio 666 Lexura, he’d also left at least six thousand Grimm worth of change for roadside emergencies.

… The perfect amount of money to add an extra helping of poison apples to said crêpes.


	2. Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Lucifer be bought with crêpes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but a few people were asking for a follow-up to this story from Lucifer's perspective, so I finally decided to buckle down and write one! I really hope it met your guys' expectations! 🤞 
> 
> Also, I included some of my headcanons in regards to Lucifer's feelings about angels and stuff, and I hope that doesn't bother anyone. In fact, it has a lot to do with another story I am working on for Obey Me!.

Lucifer’s mouth gaped open in a yawn, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Blinking lazily, he cursed himself when he realized that the arm he had apparently rested his head on while he slept was covered in drool. He sighed in relief as he remembered that he was in his private study and none of his brothers were there to catch him in such a state of disarray.

More awake now, he glanced at a small clock situated on his desk, and his eyes widened in surprise when he realized what time it was. Had he really been asleep for so long? He knew that skipping sleep last night in order to finish the last round of R.A.D attendance reports for Diavolo would no doubt tire him, but he hadn’t expected it to cause a bout of weariness that lasted for this long of a time.

Lucifer’s stomach rumbled slightly, reminding him that in his desperation to finish the reports on time, he had forgone breakfast that morning, as well. 

He shook his head, trying to relieve himself of the last dregs of sleep, and took a deep breath to reorient himself. 

He realized that he never _did_ end up completing his work. Lucifer reached toward the left-hand side of his desk, where he had originally placed a pencil holder filled with pens and highlighters, but found nothing. Surprised, he noticed that _someone_ had shifted it over to the right side of his desk. He nodded in appreciation at the act—after all, he was right-handed, so it made sense for his pencil holder to be on the right side.

With that, Lucifer’s eyes widened as he realized that not only was his pencil holder’s location changed but many of the other objects’ on his desk, as well. They were artfully displayed, and although he appreciated the neatness of their arrangement, his eyes narrowed when he realized that all of this meant that _someone had entered his private study._

His face reddened in fury; he had _explicitly_ told his brothers that while in his private study, he was _not_ to be bothered, hence why the room was locked through voice security and none of his siblings were allowed inside. 

And his codeword— _Eine klein Nachtmusik!_ How did any of his brothers even _guess_ that phrase? ‘Eine klein Nachtmusik’ had been his most precious composition as Archangel of Music back in the Celestial Realm, but he never expected the other six demons to remember something as trivial and personal as that.

For a moment, Lucifer was touched that someone would make the connection between his beloved piece and the code phrase, but he couldn’t dwell on the fact when he noticed the sheet in front of him.

He grit his teeth; on the front of the sheet was a glaring pink slip—the telltale sign of test failure. He yanked off the pink paper and nodded once when he saw the name on the test.

_Of course, it’s Mammon’s._

Lucifer leaned back in his chair and put his hand on his temple. Was it so much to ask for his money-grubbing second brother to take school seriously? 

It was no small fact that Lucifer wanted his brothers to perform and be the best students at R.A.D—after all, they were an elite demon family and considered to be the Rulers of Hell. And of course, excelling in their schoolwork would surely get Lucifer and his family on the good side of Diavolo.

This was motivation enough for him to work hard and maintain his grades, but indeed, there was something else that propelled him to encourage his brothers to put their best foot forward …

All his life, Lucifer had been taught that demons were the scum of Creation—horrid things, with no respect or love for the Father; he himself had considered demons to be absolute worms beneath his feet. 

When he was an angel, he was among the many who despised demons—that is, until he was forced to rely on them and therefore become one himself. And for all his bravado about being proud of going against his Father and living a demonic life, a _small_ part of him still considered him and his brothers to still be holy angels (with the exception of Satan, who he sometimes believed _could_ be an angel by proxy).

And as he had been ingrained to believe, angels were _better._ Angels were the _best._ Angels were sons of the Royal _King,_ with blue blood flowing through their veins, superior to all other life.

A minute part of him wanted the demons in the Devildom to _know_ that, to never forget that the Seven Rulers of Hell were _always_ going to be above them.

Being the best at R.A.D was such one reminder.

And _yet,_ his brothers refused to take themselves seriously in regards to school, and Mammon, with all his potential, was the worst culprit. 

Lucifer realized Mammon must have snuck into his private study to leave this refuse on his desk. He violently grabbed a fountain pen from his now rightly-situated pencil holder and signed his name on the designated line on the pink slip with a flourish.

More irritated than he had ever been, Lucifer shoved the paper forward, leaving it upside down, so he wouldn’t have to see the abhorrent failure notification, again. As he did this, he noticed that he almost knocked over a white paper bag that was balanced on the edge of his desk.

He cocked his head curiously and pulled the bag closer. On it was a sticky note and in Mammon’s very _loud_ handwriting, it read, _WOW bro I just realized you drool a lot in your sleep XP hopefully that means you’re hungry!!._ Lucifer couldn’t help but blush … and here he thought he was lucky to not have anyone notice his drooling.

Going against his better judgment, Lucifer peeled off the sticky note and opened the bag. As soon as he did, his anger melted away, for his nose was immediately graced with the warm, fruity scent of poison apples.

He froze; it had been _years_ since the homey aroma had entered his nostrils, and instantly, he was brought back to a small café on the outskirts of the Devildom, where he and Mammon would use to enjoy a stack of crêpes when they were much younger.

Without thinking, his eyes zoomed toward a mini picture frame on his desk, where he and Mammon sat underneath an umbrellaed patio table at the café and beamed into the camera of a stranger, who had been so taken with the cheerful pair of brothers and insisted on photographing them. 

_“Lucifer,” pouted Mammon, his bottom lip sticking out profusely. “I don’t like these creeps.”_

_Lucifer shook his head and cut off another bite of poison apple. “They’re called_ crêpes, _Mammon. And here, we can try another filling, if you’d like. Choose something else from the menu.”_

_“Hmph, okay.” He poked their waiter, who was walking by. “I want this!” He pointed to ‘Super Salty Tuna Fish Surprise crêpes.’_

_Lucifer bit his lip. He knew Mammon well enough to remember that the young demon did_ not _enjoy salty foods._

_Lucifer had hoped Mammon would enjoy this outing with him, and there was no way he would if he couldn’t find anything he liked. He took another bite of his poison apple crêpes, disheartened that despite it being his first time eating at this café, he had already found something he liked, while Mammon was left hungry._

_“Wait one moment,” Lucifer told the waiter. He turned to Mammon. “Let me see that menu.” For a moment, he perused the list of foods, before landing on ‘Blackbelly Newt Legs Macerated in Vanilla Simple Syrup-Filled crêpes.’ He knew Mammon_ loved _spicy foods—blackbelly newt legs were renowned for their heat—and the sweetness of the simple syrup would make sure that the flavor wasn’t too hot for his little demon palate. “Actually bring him this, please.”_

_“Boo, Luci, you suck,” Mammon grumbled, as the waiter walked away. “What if I don’t like those?”_

_Lucifer bobbed his head. “I’m sure you will.”_

_And he was right._

_“Yum! This is tasty!” Mammon mumbled between mouthfuls of crêpe, and he grinned._

_Lucifer beamed back. “I’m glad you like it!” He spooned the last bit of purple poison apple sauce off his plate. “We should come here, again.”_

_“Yay! We should!”_

Lucifer sighed. That had been the first of many trips to that café. Over the course of many years, he and Mammon had tried every crêpe filling on the menu, but nothing ever came close to dethroning their favorite fillings of blackbelly newt legs and poison apples. 

However, as time drew on, Mammon and he had become quite the busy demons, with various responsibilities to look after. Lucifer had always tried to make time to ensure that they still could frequently satiate their desire for crêpes, but Mammon constantly seemed to be occupied, being instantly taken with the glitz and glamor of the Devildom’s exclusive shopping districts.

He shook his head, momentarily wondering why he never thought of venturing to the café by himself, but then he realized that the trips wouldn’t be the same without his silly younger brother.

Lucifer carefully pulled out of the bag a fork and knife—it seemed as if Mammon had thoughtfully pilfered them from the House of Lamentation’s kitchen before bringing the crêpes to him—and a cylinder rolled in white paper. 

He unwrapped said cylinder to reveal three crêpes, each oozing with several extra helpings of poison apples, just as he liked. The jewel-tone purple of the sauce glittered under the lights of his study, and he breathed in again the fruity scent of it. He nudged a chunk of apple with his fork and smiled when he realized that it was nice and tender, cursed to perfection. 

Lucifer put a hand to his mouth—eating the filling would stain his lips mauve for days … but could that really be helped?

Overcome with nostalgia, he brought his knife down into the crêpe and forked a piece into his mouth. He smiled; it tasted just as sweet and sticky and delicious as it had the first time he had tried it. 

Chewing thoughtfully, he noticed some scribbling on the back of Mammon’s test. It read, _Mammon already signed up for tutoring ;(._

Perhaps it was the nostalgia talking, but seeing as Mammon was making an effort, Lucifer decided that maybe that was enough.

Putting his fork down, Lucifer pulled out his D.D.D and texted his secondborn brother.

 **Mammon** **  
****Lucifer:** Crêpes next weekend?

Immediately, he saw three bubbles pop up, indicating that Mammon was typing. A moment later, his response appeared on the screen.

 **Mammon:** I guess the Great Mammon can spare a minute or two!

 **Mammon:** Sounds like a plan! 👍👍

And from that moment on, all was forgiven.


End file.
